Crossing Paths (Authors Cut)

by Silvertayl 57

Dean and Sam take on what should be a simple hunt or maybe it's a hoax for a lizard-like creature said to be living under Seattle. Once in Seattle a strange turn of events finds the brothers shot forward in time to Seattle 2021. Will Dean's uncanny likeness to X5-494 now known as Alec lead them into a deadly situation from which there is no return? Full summary in chapter 1.

3. Chapter 3 Mistaken Identities

Title: Crossing Paths (Authors Cut)

A Supernatural/Dark Angel Crossover story

Author: Silvertayl 57

Timeline: Following immediately after Season 2, Episode14 - Born Under a Bad Sign

Synopsis: Still reeling both physically and mentally from Sam's possession by the demon Meg. Dean and Sam take on what should be a simple hunt or maybe it's a hoax for a lizard-like creature said to be living under Seattle. Once in Seattle a strange turn of events finds the brothers shot forward in time to Seattle 2021. Seattle is now a city in ruins due to the pulse of 2009. Will Dean's uncanny likeness to Manticore ex-soldier X5-494 now known as Alec lead them into a deadly situation from which there is no return before they can find the only person who can return them to 2007?

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters remain the property of their respective owners and/or creators, and no infringement of copyright is intended.

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Chapter 3: Mistaken Identities

Seattle, February 13, 2007

Breathless, Sam had watched in horror from where he had been thrown at the bottom of the stairs as Dean ran at the lizard man tackling him back onto the basement floor with a cry of pain to lay on top of the creature within the beam of the portal. Sam pushed the last pieces of broken railing away and struggled to his feet his eyes pinned to where Dean and the lizard man were locked together in a battle of strength and will. The room was filled with that high-pitched whine and static made his skin prickle and there was a smell of electrical cordite burning in the air.

Drawing in as deep a breath as possible Sam staggered a few steps forward towards his brother just as Dean gave a second short sharp cry of pain. The air around Dean and the creature began to shimmer and move and now a glow surrounded the struggling pair as Dean tried to keep the creature against the floor and inside the beam. A haze of smoke emanated from the boxes at each end of the beams arm.

If Dean stays where he is in a few seconds he'll be gone!

NO! The word of denial screamed in his head.

He covered the remaining distance to his brother in a flash and with a cry of his brother's name he grabbed onto the back of Dean's jacket and pulled. He gasped at the tingle of electricity that shot up from the tips of his fingers tangled in Dean's jacket, a vortex of pain shot through him surrounded him pushing against him from inside and outside squeezing the air out of him. After that it was a confusion of sound and senses; he was aware of a sensation of falling dimly he heard what he knew was Dean screaming his own scream caught in his throat and then there was nothing.

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Seattle, June 23, 2021

What the hell happened?

A static-like buzz filled his head. A damp, musty smell filled his nose. A bird chirped happily nearby. He lay on something hard and uncomfortable. Dark, damp, smelly. I'm back in the tunnels? I can smell, feel and hear but why can't I see? Oh, wait my eyes are shut. Way to go Sam… genius. Sam mentally chided himself opening his heavy eyelids, blinking up at the underside of floorboards, cobwebs grey with dust draped artfully from the boards waved gently in the same light breeze that caressed his face. He turned his head and now he was looking at wooden stairs, the railings split and broken laying across the bottom few risers. I know these stairs! These are the stairs in Rocky's basement. The lizard man threw me and Dean into them a minute ago… before….

Rolling slowly onto his side he rose onto his left elbow surveying his surroundings. The entire basement windows were broken, jagged shards of glass clung to the frames, the rest of the shattered panes littered the dirt covered floor. Through the broken panes he saw a sky so bright and blue it made him squint, averting his eyes away from the brightness they went straight to Dean lying immediately beside and slightly behind him face down sprawled across the lizard man his face buried in the creature's shoulder, arms still wrapped around the bigger creature, neither of them moving.

"Dean." Sam cried out his voice rough; he scrambled the short distance across the dirty, dusty floor, the broken glass crunching beneath him.

Grasping the back of Dean's jacket, he rolled him off the creature and onto his back.

His immediate and only concern for his brother, Sam noted in a split second the creature's odd, shaped eyes were open and sightless a jagged shard of glass protruded upward through the left side of his throat blood oozed out from the flesh surrounding the glass shard and slid across his throat and down underneath him, a pool of crimson spreading from his lifeless body.

Dean's head had flopped loosely to one side. Sam pressed trembling fingers to Dean's exposed throat reassured when he felt the strong thrum of his heart. Cupping his thumb and forefinger around Dean's chin he turned his head towards him tapping Dean's dirt-streaked sweaty cheek gently trying to bring him around.

"Dean, hey Dean."

Nothing happened for a few long seconds and then Sam saw Dean's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed convulsively his long lashes trembled and then lifted revealing hazy, pain filled green eyes that pinned Sam's hazel ones. Mimicking Sam's own waking thoughts Dean asked groggily, his voice hoarse and rough. "Sammy? What the hell happened?"

"We got caught in the beam." Sam answered, pushing back onto his knees, relieved to see Dean appeared to be mostly okay.

"Don't tell me… we're in 2021, aren't we?" Dean questioned with a groan, eyes leaving Sam and surveying the room. "I got 'ta tell ya' time travel isn't like it is in Dr. Who. Hurts like a son of a bitch."

"Tell me about it."

Dean closed his eyes his brow creased his nose wrinkled. "What is that smell?"

"Mold, damp, dirt, rot. Take your pick." Sam answered.

"You, okay?" Dean demanded, opening his eyes and lifting his head looking for signs of injury under the dirt covering Sam's face.

"I'll live, but I can't say the same for Scaly."

"Crap. He didn't make it?"

"No." Sam answered, glancing at the lizard man. "Landed on broken glass looks like he bled out. Must have happened when we fell through time."

Dean grimaced as he rolled to his right side his shoulder that had only been a slight distraction was now, courtesy of his tackle and horizontal scuffle on the lizard man a major problem a throbbing, fiery, hot pain. Using his good arm, he pushed himself up onto his elbow then to his knees sitting back on his heels he looked across at the lizard man. "Poor Scaly I was just beginning to like him as well. Even though he did try to strangle me and push you off that walkway." Bracing one hand on his thigh he rubbed at his shoulder trying to ease the throb.

Watching his brother closely Sam saw the unconscious motion. "Your shoulder still bothering you?" Sam asked, seeing the lines of pain around Dean's lips as he massaged his upper left arm.

Realizing what he was doing Dean dropped his hand. "Where are we?" Dean asked, effectively changing the subject.

Sitting back on his haunches Sam looked around. "Rocky's basement circa 2021."

"Thanks for that astute observation, Captain Obvious. That I can see."

"Then why'd you ask?" Sam queried.

The corner of Dean's lip curled at Sam's reply. "So, where's the time machine?"

Apart from the both of them and the body of the lizard man the rest of the basement was nearly empty there was no time portal machine or computer panel and not a hint that they'd ever been here. There was, however, dirt, rubbish, the broken stair railings and a couple of the risers themselves were missing.

"You did tell him to destroy it remember?" Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, I know, but he wouldn't, not after we got caught in it. He'll try to bring us back… won't he?" Dean replied hopefully.

"You'd think. Look at it this way, we were curious to know what the future was like. Looks like we're about to find out firsthand."

Dean ran the sleeve of his jacket over his damp forehead, glancing at the dirt and sweat stained material. "Not that curious. I'll bet Rocky's reprogramming the machine to bring us back as we speak."

Sam looked skeptical. "I don't think he can Dean."

"Why not?" Dean asked irritated.

"Rocky said the machine might overheat and possibly blow up if it was on for more than a few minutes at a time."

"Yeah. So?"

"Just before we got… zapped I saw smoke and smelled-"

Dean interrupted. "Cordite like an electrical burning smell."

"Yeah."

"You think it blew up?"

"If it didn't then it was definitely damaged. Who knows how long it will take to repair or if it can be repaired."

"Damn it! Great that's just great."

"What do you think we should do now?" Sam asked, hoping Dean would come up with one of his plans.

"We've got to find Rocky or…."

"Or?" Sam prompted.

"Another way to get back to 2007."

(CP)

They'd stayed in the basement for a while, waiting and hoping that maybe they were wrong and that any second, they would be zapped back to 2007. And that the burning smell and smoke hadn't meant what they both suspected and seemed more likely with every passing minute had meant; the time portal had been damaged or worse destroyed and they were trapped here. But a seemingly long time later they were still in the damp, grimy basement. It had become obvious that they were staying put at least for now.

They'd thrown an old torn bed sheet they'd found in the mess of the basement over the lizard man before climbing the stairs to the floor above, stepping over the missing stairs and around the ones that looked damaged or unable to take their weight.

The house was in a similar state as the basement. It had been somewhat dilapidated in 2007; in 2021 it was ten times worse. It was devoid of all the miss-matched furniture, just about every window was broken, there were numerous gaping holes in the roof and the curtains were now colorless rags and it was obvious no one had lived here or been here in a long time.

"Don't think anyone's lived here for a long time." Dean stated, putting his thoughts into words.

"Do you think Rocky moved? All his furniture is gone." Sam asked.

"I don't know Sam. We don't know if he still lives in Seattle or if he's even alive, hell we don't even know if there are any people living here."

"Assuming he is alive, how are we gonna find him?"

Dean thought for a second, "You'd think there's still an Internet in 2021. Your computer is in the Impala and the Impala is or was parked outside."

"I don't think the laptop would be working and do you really think the Impala is still there after 14 years?"

"God, I hope so." Dean replied as he strode across the rubbish strewn floor to the front window overlooking the street. The street outside the house was empty revealing what Dean had dreaded, no Impala. "Damn it. She's not there." He said angrily then added quietly. "I hope she's alright." He was about to turn away when he caught movement out the corner of his eye. "Sam, check it out."

Sam joined him at the window a few seconds later.

A couple, a man and a woman a decidedly human couple were walking along the broken sidewalk outside the house.

"Humans! Well, that's got to be a good sign."

"So not a planet of the lizard men then." Dean replied. Only half-jokingly.

"Dean, maybe we can use our cell phones to track Rocky down," Sam said pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and pressing a button. "Hope the 2007 networks are still in operation." When the display failed to light up Sam pressed it again and still nothing. "Mine's dead, try yours."

Dean had pre-empted Sam with his cell already in his hand. Same result, dead. "Nope, I think they got fried when we fell through time."

"What about a pay phone or a phone directory… assuming they still have them in 2021?"

"There are telephone lines in the street so it's probable. We could head into the city and buy new cellphones; we'd at least have some way of communicating with each other."

"Sounds like a plan."

They stood on the cracked sidewalk outside the abandoned house surveying their surroundings.

Above the roofs of the shabby, run-down homes and apartments high in the cloud spotted blue sky the Space Needle towered over the surrounding city. Although it was some distance away it looked to be within walking distance.

Dean slapped the back of his hand against Sam's chest inclining his head at the circular tower. "There's the space needle. We'll head that way."

The closer they got to the center of the city the worse things looked. This Seattle bore no resemblance of the Seattle they been zapped from 14 years earlier; the desolate appearance of the streets, dilapidated homes and apartment blocks gave way to the equally dilapidated shop fronts, warehouses and industrial buildings. This Seattle reminded Sam of the photos he'd seen of bombed out cities after the Second World War. Though faded, bent and defaced he recognized some of the street names and Seattle landmarks. The Space Needle that had looked so impressive soaring high, standing guard over the city looked broken, neglected and unloved.

To spite the sunshine the streets had a gloomy, depressing look and feel, littered with trash of all kinds; animal, vegetable, mineral, broken glass bottles and discarded soda cans, piles of rubbish and garbage dotted along the footpath. Trash cans spilled their contents onto the sidewalks. Graffiti covered the peeling grimy walls and remaining glass from the windows of the buildings. There were security bars on the intact windows and security screens pulled back at the entrances to businesses and shops that were clinging to existence by their fingernails leaving no doubt the security screens would be padlocked over the doors after closing. All the shops and businesses nearby had dirt-streaked or painted over glass. The gutters were clogged with more trash, newspapers, leaves and who knew what else. Rusting husks of abandoned and or burned-out cars and trucks, minivans, SUV's, a Winnebago and even a public bus scattered along each side of the streets.

The streets became busier the closer they got to the center of the city; cars and harried-looking people bustled along the streets and sidewalks going about their business. They'd even seen a couple of running buses belching black smoke from the exhaust and in no better shape than most of the slow-moving cars.

"Looks almost post-apocalyptic, like a bomb went off." Sam observed as they navigated the streets.

"Do you think the whole US is like this or just Seattle?" Dean pondered.

"I don't know what to think." Sam answered softly.

His eye caught movement above and to his left. A metallic disk-like object moved slowly towards them, Sam stopped, beside him Dean had also jerked to a stop and Sam knew he'd seen it too.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed in disbelief. "Is that a UFO?"

As it got closer it glided to a stop, hovering above them. Writing curving along the front edge of the underside read - SEATTLE POLICE and higher up towards the center, DANGER KEEP CLEAR.

No one around them was taking any notice of the hovering object, behaving as if it was the norm... which in 2021 it probably was?

"2021 version of the eye in the sky?" Sam pondered.

"Looks like," Dean's eyes surveyed the people moving around them.

The hovering disk started moving forward once more, over their heads and away the whining sound of its motor fading.

"Payphone." Dean said suddenly, glancing left and right before starting across the street. Sam followed close behind.

The phone booth was built into the wall of the street a metal mesh screen surrounded it, supposedly meant for the phone user's privacy, but the screen offered absolutely no privacy at all and was rusted and filthy as was the phone itself the acrid smell of urine enveloped the booth and the surrounding area.

"This place sticks," Dean observed, "I'll catch something just from breathing the air in this petri dish." He picked up the headset with two fingers, he put the receiver as close to his ear as he dared pumping the grime encrusted cradle of the receiver with the tip of his finger.

"No dial tone," replacing the useless receiver back into the cradle he picked up the chain dangling down the side of the phone that should have an attached phone directory, "and no directory."

They continued towards the city center in search of a working phone, another police drone UFO thing drifted by it was hard to know if it was the same one. Then a minute later after turning a corner into, yet another dilapidated street Dean pointed up ahead. "Yahtzee."

Sam looked in the direction Dean pointed. A shop sign read:

MERVIN'S ELECTRONIC'S BOUTIQUE

TV'S, STEREO'S, CELL PHONES,

DVD and BLURAY RECORDERS,

SPEAKERS, COMPUTERS and MORE

Crossing the store's threshold, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the shop's dingy and dark interior; the display cases, shelves and merchandise were all covered in a thick layer of dust. The proprietor, who Sam deduced was Mervin, was an elderly African American man with grizzled, frizzy hair sprinkled with more than a handful of silver. Mervin obviously hadn't seen a customer in a long time he was exceedingly helpful, a little too much so, but he did them a good deal on 2 new cell phones, simcards and numbers.

"Do you have a Seattle directory I can borrow?" Sam asked Mervin as he put their cash, which was almost all the paper money they carried between them into the ancient looking register.

"I think so, let me see… where did I put it… ah here ya go; knew I had one around here," he said as he pulled a large directory from under the counter, "'fraid it's a bit old might be out of date, had it since before the pulse."

He plunked the large book on the counter, sending a cloud of musty smelling dust up into their faces.

Dean coughed in the back of his throat as the brothers shared a glance. "The pulse?" Sam said, clueless to Mervin's meaning, "oh right the pulse, when was that again?" Sam prompted him to elaborate.

The old man did not pick up on Sam's ill-concealed prod for more information. "I haven't got around to getting a new one, anyway I think they're what you might say… redundant these days."

The grizzled old man was looking between the brothers his rheumy eyes settling on Dean with concern. "You alright son?"

Out the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam's head whip round in his direction fast enough that Dean thought he might have whiplash.

Dean gave a nervous laugh swiping the side of his hand across his sweaty top lip. "Yeah its… hot in here."

Dean's remark hadn't appeased Sam, he was still staring at him.

It's chilly bordering on cold in here. Sam thought, looking at Dean's flushed face Sam attempted to gauge if in typical Dean fashion his brother was downplaying how he really felt.

The directory was sans a front cover and most of the A's were missing the remaining pages dog-eared and musty smelling the creased, peeling spine had Seattle 2009 in bold letters printed along its length. Flipping to the V's Sam found four Vescio's listed. Borrowing a pen and a slip of paper from Mervin he jotted down the addresses and phone numbers.

"Thanks. Any place close by I can get a map of Seattle?" Sam asked, putting the pen back down on the counter.

"You'll want a sector map." Mervin said.

"Sector map?" The brothers replied in unison.

The old man looked at them curiously. "You two, you're not from around here, are you?' He asked.

"That obvious huh?" Dean answered with a smile.

Mervin continued to look at him, not answering.

"We're err looking for a… old friend of ours but we lost his address." Sam said by way of an explanation.

The old man nodded seemingly satisfied with Sam's explanation, "drug store two blocks down. I think they sell sector maps."

"Thanks," Sam said flashing a quick smile.

A shiver ran through Dean as he left the store whether from the cool breeze that had sprung up or from the fever, he could feel growing and spreading, he pulled his jacket closed at the front attempting to block the breeze. He'd had a fever before and the feelings of one minute cold and wanting a thicker jacket and the next minute he wanted to rip off his jacket and let the breeze cool the sweat coating his skin.

"What do you suppose he meant by the pulse?" Dean asked.

"No clue but it could be the reason why Seattle looks the way it does."

Sam was giving him the look; the look that said I know you're hiding something. "Yeah, could be." He answered. "D'you see how old that directory was? Don't know if it's gonna be much help." Dean continued, trying to divert Sam and distract him from looking at him like he was going to spontaneously combust or drop dead on the spot.

Sam took a good long hard look at his brother. If he thought Dean looked off earlier, before being zapped into the future he looked comparatively worse now. Dean's eyes were blood shot and heavy, spots of high color stained his cheeks, a fine sheen of perspiration coated his forehead, and his mouth was pulled into a grim line that to Sam meant pain.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Dean snapped, fidgeting and scratching at his neck under Sam's scrutiny.

"No reason." Sam lied.

"Well quit it and start dialing… or punching numbers or whatever."

Sam pursed his lips then flipped open his new phone tapping at the on-screen keyboard entering the first phone number written on the scrap of paper, that and the second number were no longer in service the third and fourth were answered by cranky people who claimed they didn't know and had never heard of a Rocky Vescio and as far as they knew no Vescio had lived there in the last ten or eleven years respectively.

"We'll have to check out the two out of service, there might be people still living at the addresses." Sam said as he stuffed the phone and the list into his pocket.

"Let's check out the drug store and get us a map." Dean answered as they started in the direction the old man had indicated.

They had walked for only one block when they came upon a twelve-foot-high steel and mesh fence with a matching gate barricading the street, flanking the gate were two men in military style combat gear and heavily armed with automatic rifle's blocking access to the adjoining streets, a rusting metal sign attached to the fence with twisted wire read:

SECTOR 6 ENTRY CHECKPOINT

NO ACCESS WITHOUT A VALID SECTOR PASS

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean hissed not wanting to be overheard by the few people moving around and past them.

"That's what the old man was referring to when he asked if we wanted a sector map."

"So, Seattle is divided into sectors… this is some kind of police state, and we haven't got one of those sector pass thingies." Dean said dragging a hand down his face in frustration.

"What are we gonna do?"

"We'll have to find another way around."

"The sewers." Sam exclaimed suddenly.

"You are getting way too fond of the Seattle sewers Sam." Dean said, shrugging his jacket closer and curling his shoulders.

Undeterred by Dean's comment Sam said, "We can use the sewers to get past the checkpoint."

"Terrific they were crappy enough 14 years ago I can't begin to imagine what they are like now." Dean said.

"If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears Dean, I'm not seeing any other options." Sam reasoned.

Dean sighed then acquiesced to Sam's plan. "If I catch something it'll be your fault." Dean hissed, pointing a finger at Sam.

"Breath through your mouth." Sam suggested.

"Thanks for the advice, professor," Dean replied.

It turned out Sam's idea worked better than Dean thought it would.

Finding an inconspicuous utility access hole at the end of a nearby alley, they descended into the vile, totally gross sewers, moving as swiftly as possible along the tunnel in the direction that would take them under the checkpoint. Emerging a few minutes later into another alley a couple of hundred feet on the other side of the checkpoint fence.

Dean breathed in the not so sweet air of the alley because it smelled not unlike and not much better than the sewers. The alkaline smell of urine combined with the cloying smell of rotting garbage that emanated from two overflowing dumpsters pushed against one wall hung thickly in the air. In the center of the alley an abandoned shopping cart with two broken wheels was filled with all kinds of unidentifiable things, a sheet of discolored plastic hanging over and down the side of the cart rippled and snapped in the increasing breeze and an old, rusted metal coca cola sign was mounted on the brick wall opposite the dumpsters.

The alley was double ended it ran from street to street. They exited at the end farthest away from the checkpoint finding the drug store and the next corner.

The two maps they bought had the sectors and checkpoints marked on them. Seattle was split into 12 sectors; cross-referencing the 2 remaining addresses against the map, one address was in sector 2 the other in sector 11.

"We're in sector 6… here," Dean said stabbing a finger at one of the maps. "We'll split up. You take sector 2 and I'll take sector 11." Dean suggested handing Sam the other map.

Sam took the proffered copy of the map. "You want to split up?" Sam asked. "I really think we should stay together."

"Sam, these addresses are at either end of the city and we're in the middle. It makes sense to split up we can get this done in half the time find Rocky and a way out of here."

"I don't think separating is a good idea." Sam answered uncertainly.

"We've got our new numbers locked in on speed dial, you call me when you get there, and I'll call you. If, things go sideways, we'll meet back here at the alley in… two hours."

"Dean," Sam said in a tone making sure he had his brother's attention as he folded the map and stuffed it in his pocket. "Be careful."

"Always." Dean answered with a wave of his hand, he turned and walked away.

As Sam watched him stride away with his usual confident, loose-limbed slightly bow-legged gait, a feeling of dread came over him.

(CP)

Slamming the car door, he pushed the brim of his cap back away from his forehead putting the jumbo-sized take-out cup of coffee on the dash before picking up the scanner and pointing it back out the open window. He knew he'd taken a risk abandoning his post even if just for a couple of minutes; he'd been out here all day without a break and still had an hour of his shift to go. Despite it being June the temperature in Seattle dropped quickly in the late afternoon and he'd needed something warm inside him to see him through the next boring hour until the night shift took over; so, he'd hurried into the market grabbed a large coffee from one of the many coffee vendors and then hurried back to the car parked across from the market entrance where he had an unobstructed view, and he could monitor it easily.

Phoenix had been concentrating their efforts here for five weeks now. And for five weeks every day and night they'd been out on the depressing Seattle streets scanning the human masses that trod the streets going about their business, doing whatever they did in this desolate God forsaken city; it was taking its toll on all the Phoenix men himself included.

It appeared Seattle was even getting to Tobias Burke. Phoenix had sent the former army colonel to head up the Seattle operation. The man had a dark, foreboding personality that was getting darker as each day passed with zero results.

The head honchos at Phoenix wanted to make sure Kovar the head scientist they were rumored to be paying a six figure sum with the money they were syphoning off from legitimate government projects had all that he needed making sure he had every opportunity to use his expertise to bring about the results they were expecting. Phoenix had set the scientist up at the research lab in Kansas. All Kovar needed to complete his research was an X5, a live X5.

Over the last four months hunting down the Manticore freaks had been reasonably successful. A half dozen transgenic and transhumans had been captured across the western states and almost double that number in Seattle.

The higher number of Manticore mutants in Seattle made perfect sense seeing as Manticore had consolidated its operation to a facility using the cover of a VA hospital a couple of hours outside of Seattle and when it had burned down some twelve months earlier all the mutant freaks held inside had escaped into the woods and surrounding area and had been gathering unnoticed in and around Seattle ever since. The siege at the Jam Pony messenger service six weeks earlier had brought the Manticore transgenic threat to the general public's attention hence the city was now nicknamed transgenic central.

Seattle was also where the Eyes Only broadcasts emanated from. The broadcasts aimed at rallying support for the transgenics plight to be equals was turning the tide in favor of the transgenics. Whoever Eyes Only was he was smart hacking into the television network feed and streaming the videos across a wide area in such a way they had been untraceable. A lot suspected that this Eyes Only was himself a Manticore transgenic and Phoenix wanted an end to Eyes Only and the broadcasts as they could generate even more sympathy for the mutants and already there appeared to be a softening of people's attitude to the transgenic situation and that was one thing Phoenix wanted to avoid at all costs. They wanted to keep the hatred of the mutants burning bright in the population on mass, that way they could be seen as the good guys doing a public service by keeping the transgenics out of society.

After the siege despite the police and NSA surrounding them the transgenic's had somehow made their escape to Terminal City leaving NSA Agent Ames White and the elite squad he'd brought in to take care of the situation humiliated. White and his team had been found tied up, slightly battered and bloody but largely unharmed on the upper floor of Jam Pony.

Since that day many transgenic's and transhumans had been holed up behind fences and barricades inside the toxic cesspool of Terminal City keeping the police, National Guard and the NSA at bay.

The mutants had found a way in and out of Terminal City and onto the streets of Seattle under the noses of everyone that was a certainty, as there was no way they could have survived for six weeks without replenishing their supplies and the spate of nighttime robberies and break ins across the city that had occurred in the last month indicated that this was the case. Weapons, ammo, medical supplies, food, clothing and electronic hardware had all been stolen.

All Phoenix had to do was find a way into TC. With so many of the freaks confined in one area of the city capturing them should have been easy but Phoenix's efforts to breech Terminal City barricades had been in vain and since the siege only two of the Manticore freaks had been picked up outside of TC and both were at night.

"Transgenic central my ass," he spat out in disgust peeling the lid from the cardboard coffee cup.

Otto Gottlieb one of White's men had come up with a way to track the freaks with a thermal scanner; he and all other Phoenix men had been using the scanners for the last five weeks to supposedly pick out the mutants. The daytime shifts were for the purpose of capturing the X series transgenics, they were the ones that could pass as regular people. All transgenics ran a basil body temperature of 100.8 degrees 3 degrees higher than a regular human and apart from the barcode tattoo on the back of their necks all the Manticore freaks were branded with, the X series freaks looked just like any Joe or Jane Blow; the X series could blend into society, but the thermal scanner calibrated at 100 degrees picked them out by their higher body temperature showing the images as much whiter and brighter than a human.

To say special agent White was pissed when five weeks ago a week after the siege Burke had stormed into White's base of operation taking over and effectively shutting it down and recruiting his men to Phoenix was an understatement. Not giving up without a fight White had gone to the NSA director who oversaw his operation; Director Well's denied White was under his order and claiming he knew nothing of White's agenda in no uncertain terms insisted White hand in his resignation before the NSA suffered irreparable damage.

Which meant that he and more than two dozen others, some from Phoenix and some who used to be under orders from White including Otto were out here every single day and night with a thermal scanner.

With a sigh of boredom, he adjusted the angle of the scanner aimed at the crowd milling about, coming and going from the busy open market place the 10-inch screen mounted on the front of the dash showed nothing unusual no whiter image. As far as he could tell he hadn't missed anything; he lifted the takeout coffee cup to his lips taking a sip, the scalding liquid burned his mouth tracing a hot path down his gullet just as a figure entered from the left of screen, the image of the figure on screen showed whiter than the surrounding figures. It moved slowly across the screen stopping at the market entrance. He sat up straighter in his seat eyes flitting from the tall, six foot plus man with short, light brown hair, dressed in jeans, a dark jacket over his shirt and then back to the screen; he wanted to make sure before he did anything. He barely noticed the burning hot coffee that jumped up over the rim of the cup and spilled on his hand as he placed it back on the dash. The tall man started moving again; he followed his path with the thermal scanner. This was it; this had to be what they'd been waiting for.

Grasping the walkie-talkie, he opened the channel to control, "Position 8 to control."

"Copy position 8," The tinny sounding voice came back to him through the static a moment later.

"I think I got one."

(CP)

The sudden dizziness made Dean stagger like a drunken sailor on shore leave. Coming to a swaying stop he reached out to the side planting the palm of his hand on the graffiti covered wall beside him.

The dizziness abated quickly but left him feeling weak, tremors racked his body, the hot and cold chills now a constant companion.

Leaning his back against the wall, with trembling fingers he pulled his map from his jacket pocket blinking down at it in a bid to clear the blurriness from his vision, lifting his eyes to a nearby street sign to make sure he was still heading in the right direction. He was beginning to regret his decision that he and Sam split up and he still had at least two miles to go to reach what he hoped was Rocky's address. With his fever racked body failing him he'd be lucky to make it to the next intersection.

Stuffing the map back into his pocket, he pushed away from the wall and put one foot in front of the other. To his surprise he made it to the intersection and across the street passing an open market. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafted to him as a steady stream of people entered and exited the busy market. He stopped inhaling the smell tempted to divert into the market and grab himself some of that coffee that Seattle is or was famous for, but he didn't think with the nausea churning in his belly it would be a very good idea and unpleasant to say the least if the coffee made an encore appearance on a shoppers shoes. Gathering himself he started forward again.

It was as he crossed the next intersection that he felt a prickling feeling that ran down his spine and it had nothing to do with the perspiration tracing a path down the skin of his back, or the chills racking his body. He was being followed. Shooting a glance over his shoulder Dean saw a man keeping pace with him about 30 feet behind; dark clothes a black cap pulled down low over his forehead, hands deep in the pockets of his short coat. Dean increased his pace noting just up ahead two figures standing near a blazing fire set in an old oil barrel. This was June and the fire seemed unnecessary, the day was giving way to night and with the city in ruins, a veritable slum, the need for heat was more of a comfort thing than an actual need for warmth.

As he drew level with the men he stopped next to the barrel, they looked suspiciously at him. Giving them a curt nod, he held his hands out to the fire at the same time stealing a look at the man following. As Dean had suspected the man had also stopped pretending to look in a nearby store window. Scanning the street around him using only his eyes Dean found another set of eyes on him from another man standing across the street. African American with a close-cropped military style haircut dressed in a dark suit, tie and a long black coat; from across the span of the street Dean could see the wire from an earpiece which meant this man and the man in the cap were communicating with each other and they were most definitely tailing him; he just didn't know why? As far as he was aware he hadn't done anything to attract attention and he didn't have a neon sign hanging around his neck that said- 'I'm from 2007 come and get me'.

Leaving the blazing drum and the two raggedy men behind he continued to walk at a sedate pace, looking for an opportunity to make a move and lose them; he sure as hell didn't want to hang around long enough to find out what they wanted. The suited man across the street kept pace with him and he could feel the close presence of man in the cap behind him.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks as up ahead and with a screech of tires a dark sedan slid to a halt at the curb. Two men similarly dressed as the suit surged from the car weapons drawn as they ran towards him. He was hemmed in on three sides. Eyes frantically searching for an escape Dean saw what looked like a narrow alley or access way that branched off to his left a few feet ahead. It was the only choice he had as he broke into a run turning into the alley, he prayed that it wasn't a dead end. It wasn't. He pounded down the cracked, uneven alley surface his footsteps echoing back to him; breath see-sawing in and out the cold air against his fevered skin doing little to cool him. He could feel his heartbeat thundering against his rib cage. The far end of the alley was getting closer and closer and yet he hadn't heard the report of a gun or felt the impact and sting of a bullet pierce his back and he began to think maybe he had a chance if he could only reach the end of the alley. His hopes were shattered a heartbeat later when a dark colored van appeared jerking to a screeching stop across the exit of the alley. Dean skidded to a halt as the 2 occupants exited the car. The driver crouched down taking aim with a rifle in the open van doorway and the other doing the same across the hood.

Game over!

Sucking in gulps of air he spun around, arms slightly raised. The three suits and the cap were closing in quickly and footsteps were now coming at him from the other end of the alley.

"On your knees, hands behind your head," One of the suits shouted.

"Okay, okay, I'm down," he said, lifting his hands high as he went down to his knees, lacing his hands behind his head the movement pulling on the swollen, throbbing flesh of his shoulder.

"Careful these X's are strong," A voice from behind him called out.

The cool barrel of a rifle was pushed into his cheek and his hands were pulled roughly down behind his back the cold steel of handcuffs snapped tightly around his wrists.

Someone frisked him roughly pulling his pearl handled Colt from where he had it resting against his lower back tucked in the waistband of his jeans along with the small dagger he kept strapped in a sheath at his ankle and his new cell phone. The rifle digging into his cheek was withdrawn and his head was pushed down, the back of his shirt collar was yanked away from his neck and then released.

"No bar code," A different voice said.

"He's one. The thermal scanner doesn't lie." The first voice warned.

X's, strong, bar codes. What the hell is this and who do they think I am?

A pair of shiny black shoes appeared in front of him, a wool coat swirling around the shins of its owner a firm hand grasped a hunk of his hair cruelly yanking his head back the cold steel of an automatic jabbed painfully into the soft flesh under his jaw. He had no choice but to stare into an angry, hate-filled round, dark face. The man's brown eyes spitting hatred. This guy hates me, and I don't have a clue why?

"Where's your barcode freak?" He asked in an angry hiss. Jabbing the automatic harder into his flesh for emphases.

"Freak? That's a little harsh considering we only just met," Dean quipped awkwardly not able to open his mouth fully against the pressure of the gun.

Dean's mind was working overtime trying to piece together what he knew and what he was learning from his current fucked up situation. In a moment of clarity, he remembered Scaly had a bar code it hadn't really registered at the time Sam had told him about it; that might have had something to do with the fact that Scaly had just tried to strangle the life out of him. Scaly was some kind of hybrid mutation. Why would they think I was a like Scaly? A barcoded physically strong freak.

"These things have such smart mouths, the ones that can speak anyway. Where. Is. Your. Barcode?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. What barcode?" Dean managed to push out.

The suit gave his hair a vicious jerk before letting go and then drawing back his weapon he smashed the barrel across his mouth.

Dean's head rocked to the side the blow reverberating through his already pounding head his teeth cutting the soft skin inside his mouth filling it with the metallic taste of blood.

Straightening his head Dean spat blood onto the man's shiny shoes.

"Damn it, I just had these shined," He cursed under his breath as he pushed back his coat holstering the automatic.

This time the man backhanded him. The blow landing across his cheek the ring the man wore opening the flesh over his cheekbone. The blow so powerful it sent Dean sprawling onto his right side, his face connecting with the rough concrete of the alley beneath him stunning him into semi-consciousness.

Through watering blurred eyes Dean looked up at the man in front of him.

"It seems these freaks have no respect."

Then he drew back his foot and kicked him in the stomach with the toe of his blood splattered shoe.

Dean gasped curling in on himself. The blow winding him sending stars orbiting around the periphery of his tunneling vision.

He sensed the suit come nearer as he squatted down beside him.

"Where. Is. Your. Barcode?" His voice was menacingly quiet and deadly.

Dean was breathing hard, his teeth clenched so tight he felt they might shatter. He blinked staring up into the suit's face his eyes shooting angry, green fire, "You should get your hearing checked." Dean matched the suit's tone. "I. Don't. Know. What. You're. Talking. About."

Without a change of expression, the suit reached inside his coat and pulled out a long-handled stun gun, a malicious smile spreading across his face. Dean's eyes flicked from that smile to the weapon.

The suit was still smiling when he touched the stun gun to his heaving chest.

Liquid fire spread out from the spot where it met his skin through his shirt and t-shirt snaking through him. His body writhed and jerked trying to pull inwards away from the excruciating pain.

The stun gun was lifted from his chest leaving him gasping and quivering as the current dissipated from his body, his head threatening to explode.

"Nice try freak. Guess we'll just have to use other methods to get it out of you?"

Dean couldn't answer even if he knew what to say his thoughts not of himself but of his brother. Sammy, you were right we should never have split up, I'm sorry.

The suit touched the stun gun to his chest again the second time the agony much worse; after how long Dean didn't know but long enough that he was grateful when his body finally began to shut down tipping him over the edge from pain into blessed darkness.

(CP)

The sun had set; the sky was darkening rapidly with the onset of night as Sam exited the house at the address where he had hoped he would find Rocky. The address had proved to be a dead end. The house was filled with squatters, all of them were scruffy with lank, greasy hair the sweet smell of weed jockeying for dominance over the stench of their unwashed hair and bodies. Eventually he got through to the spaced-out occupants that he wasn't there to join the party, he was looking for someone. None of them knew of Rocky, at least that was what Sam guessed from the weird conversations he had with the squatters and as he saw for himself Rocky was not one of them. I hope Dean is having better luck than me.

"Call me when you get there." Dean had said in parting. He took out his phone, pressed speed dial 1 for Dean's new number as he left the smell and the house behind. With each ring Sam's apprehension grew; the feeling of dread he'd had as he'd watched his brother walk away was growing, gnawing at him with sharp, pointy teeth.

"Come on Dean answer your damned phone," Sam implored, begging Dean to pick up the call.

The phone rang out Sam pressed redial waiting anxiously as the phone rang out a second time. He paced outside the house running his hands through his hair, his worry growing. Maybe it was the wrong number? No, we triple checked that we each had the correct number before we left the shop.

Dean had also said, "If, things go sideways, we'll meet back here in… two hours."

Worry growing at a rate of knots Sam headed back the way he had come. Ringing Dean's number again and again as he walked, increasing the length of his stride with each unanswered call.

It was dark and cold by the time he made it back to the street where he and Dean had parted; he'd used the sewers to traverse the sector checkpoints. Sam's gut clenched when he saw Dean wasn't there and the alley was empty.

Sam shivered shrugging deeper into his jacket as he stood at the entrance to the alley and looked up and down the street.

To his left on the other side of the street about a hundred meters away the neon sign of a tattoo parlor on the corner fritzed and blinked on and off intermittently. To his right was a faded, peeling mural of a smiling father and son gazing up at the Space Needle with an accompanying statement, Visit Seattle Window to the Future.

"Come on Dean, come on," Sam whispered anxiety coloring his words. "Where the hell are you?" For the next few minutes Sam debated with himself should he wait here or go off in search of his brother, weighing up the options. If he went after him and Dean came back and Sam was not here he would be worried. If Sam stood around here and did nothing and Dean was in trouble and needed help Sam would never forgive himself.

Sam took out the map and traced the path he felt Dean would most likely take to get to the other address in sector 11 with his finger until his finger intersected with sector 11. Should he wait or go after Dean? The beginnings of anxious worry chewed at him as he called Dean's cell one more time when again it rang out with still no answer he turned left towards the tattoo parlor, headed in the direction along the street where he'd last seen his brother.

If he hadn't turned his head at that precise moment, he would have missed him. The area was dark, lit only by the light from an oil drum fire that littered the city up ahead. A figure dressed in dark clothing slipped off the sidewalk into the dark shadows of a doorway across the street. Sam only caught a glimpse, but he'd know that figure anywhere it was unmistakably that of his brother.

"Dean!" Sam called out. There was no reaction from the shadowed figure. "Dean!" Sam called out again, louder this time. Still no response, the figure seemed to melt into the shadows as Sam raced across the street.

A brass plaque mounted on the wall in the recessed entrance beside the closed door read Dr. Richard Martin Cosmetic Surgeon with a string of letters beside the name. Maybe Dean is injured and seeking out medical treatment?

The thought that his brother may be injured or hurt spurred Sam on. Pushing on the door experimentally it opened inward under his hand onto a short, small foyer a potted palm directly opposite the entry door. To Sam's left a set of carpeted stairs ascended to a small landing, beside the stairs was an elevator. Pulling his Glock from the waistband of his pants and with cautious silent steps Sam mounted the stairs to the landing then up a second set doubling back the other way. At the top of the second set of stairs was a closed frosted glass door again with the doctor's name on it. Sam moved quietly across the carpeted floor to the door; the frosted glass making it impossible to see into the dark room beyond.

"Dean?" No answer. "It's me Sam. I'm coming in." Sam said quietly, but loud enough for anyone on the other side to hear. Turning the handle pushing the door open far enough to sidle through Sam stepped inside advancing slowly into the dark room. To his right light filtered in from a large window facing onto the street. Stopping a few feet inside the door Sam could make out vague shapes. An L-shaped desk was positioned directly inside the door; across the room and behind the desk was a partially open door that had to be the doctors consulting room.

To the right was another potted palm and a water cooler beside that. Six waiting chairs under the window lined the front wall, a low table filled the space in front of the chairs a neat pile of magazines stacked on top. His eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and there was no one in the room. Stealthily on silent feet Sam moved across the carpeted floor towards the second door pushing it open further before stepping cautiously through to the room beyond. It was even darker here, the light from the street shut out by the closed Venetian blinds. After a few moments he could make out the indistinct changes in the depths of darkness that gradually morphed into furniture and equipment. Directly opposite the door was a desk flanked on each side by a chair.

The left side of the room was sectioned off by partially pulled curtain swaying gently as if someone had disturbed it. Using the barrel of the Glock Sam pushed the curtain back far enough to reveal a skinny examination table, stainless steel medical equipment and a set of waist high cabinets filling the area behind. It was then Sam sensed he was not alone in the darkened room, turning back towards the door he took a cautious step back towards the shuttered window, standing in the space between the desk and the door. A blur of movement in his periphery to the right had him jerking the Glock up at the same time assuming a defensive, fighting stance. Too late. He was grabbed forcefully by the back of his jacket and flung through the air. He achieved some good air before crashing heavily on his front on top of the desk, the air evacuated his lungs and the Glock fell from his stunned fingers. His body skidded across the shiny desktop and off the other side into the chair beyond, toppling it onto its side. The left side of his head, face and shoulder slammed hard into the framed certificate on the wall; the impact so hard the glass shattered showering him with sharp edged shards of glass and pieces of broken frame as he slid down the wall to lie slumped against it the top half of his body on the wall, legs splayed out on the floor. Winded, barely conscious and through vision cycling in and out of focus he saw a shadow fall over him as a figure stepped close.

"Dean?" Sam pushed out breathlessly. "Whahh?"

It was the impact of his body with the desk and his head with the wall combined with the inability to fill his lungs with oxygen that sent him spiraling into darkness.

Continued in Chapter 4: "You've got to be kiddin' me... another clone?"